


Intermission

by JaeNunyah



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaeNunyah/pseuds/JaeNunyah
Summary: Nick and Roger discuss departure...
Kudos: 6





	Intermission

**Author's Note:**

> Immediate sequel to "End Of Act I" from RTF, and prequel to upcoming HCYDIA, this little tale ties my others together. Hope it makes sense on its own, but...

"So, here we are." Spreading hands in guesture of futility on either side of pilsner glass, Nick glares across bar booth at The Man With The Plan. "What's next, then?"

"Don't look at ME." Roger snaps, righteous indignation battling embittered regret. "Where I'm going, you can't follow."

Nick doesn't care for the sound of THAT at all. "You're not going to do anything...crazy...are you?"

"Oh, PLEASE..." is scornfully scoffed "...their little lives aren't worth MY freedom."

"What about...you?"

Roger cackles coldly "You think I'd kill MYSELF?" He takes a deep drink before haughty proclaimation. "Sweet of you to care."

"They know we need you." Nick tries "There's been some nasty dust-ups before, and we still stuck it out. You have so many fuckin' awesome ideas, mate, and we all know it, so c'mon back, okay?"

"Impossible, this time." Roger sighs "Dave SAID that's what would happen." Discerning Nick's confusion, he remembers "You might not have heard. When you were worried I was getting a gun...which I WAS..."

"I KNEW it!" Nick interjects, interested as to firearm residing within Roger's Big Black Sack. "What kind?"

"None of your business, but good lookin' out, sussing I've got one."

"Everybody Got One!" Nick chuckles, setting up for ribald reference.

"Stacy Brown Got Two!" Roger laughs back, savoring Silverstein sequituer for solemn segue "They need YOU, Nick. Neither knows shiT about percussion."

"Piano's percussion..." 

[Under the right hands, but...] "Not the way Rick plays. Go on and bang beats for Pink Floyd. Somebody's got to do it, I guess, and nobody deserves the money more than you."

"There IS no more 'Pink Floyd', Rog, not if YOU quit."

Again, Roger is touched but resolute "Thanks, but I'm walking my own plank without a blindfold. I've stayed out of fear, but have to face it. He's right. Nobody fucking likes me, and they're all just dumbass sheep following a name. Have fun publicly raping and remixing MY songs forever."

"Yeah, I somehow doubt they WANT me back." Nick grumbles "They'll prob'ly go on as a lovey-dovey duo now."

"No." Roger intuits "Rick doesn't want it that way, and Dave knows MY fucking compositions are the ones selling records even if he CAN'T admit it. This is gonna be one HELL of an ugly divorce, and even though I KNOW I can't win, I've got to TRY because I'm fucking RIGHT!" Draining his glass, he implores "Does that make any sense?"

Nick is in over his head, foundation grounded, but determined to try. "No, not really. Look, Roger, it's started to seem, lately, like your convictions are more important than our band."

"Well, they ARE!" is savagely snarled "That's WHY I'm fucking leaving! I had THOUGHT we had similar convictions, but we don't, so I'm clearly the odd man out."

"This mad, arty stuff..." Nick fumbles "...do you REALLY think it's gonna change the world?"

"Not exactly, but it's important, too. I'm trying to preach and all the rock-n-roll world wants is catchy tunes."

"Maybe you're preachin' too much."

"Maybe..." Roger allows "...but I can't stop. We fight for the wrong reasons, but we shouldn't be afraid to fight...how can we tell what's right? Prosecutorial judgement versus intellectual judgement...what's fair versus what's deserved..." long fingers twine into lank locks as Roger buries face between hands, offering muffled utterance "Understand?"

"You know I don't." Nick quietly confesses. "Who could?"

"Who indeed?" A dreamy look infuses Roger's features as he sits up to drum fingers upon tabletop, eyes flicking toward payphone near restrooms then returning to those of disconcerted drummer. "Go ahead and issue press release, if you want, or run on home to tell them, but Pink Floyd has officially disbanded." He stands up and strides away, leaving Nick to his own jumbled thoughts.

[Who the fuck is he calling? I can pretend to need the loo, but He'll know I'm eavesdropping.] Nick edges out of the booth and locks eyes with Roger as he's able to overhear...

"There was blood."


End file.
